


Arms In

by RadiatorfromSpace



Series: Itty-Bitty Loki & A Whole Lot of Thor [4]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adult!Thor, Age Difference, Anal, Anal Gaping, Bestiality, Come Inflation, Come-Stuffing, Consentacles, Cum-Stuffing, Interspecies Sex, Loki is not a female octopus, M/M, No mpreg, Not how octopus eggs work, Oviposition, Restraints (ish), Teenage!Kid Loki, Tentacle Porn, Tentacles, The Octopus’s Age is Probably Irrelevant, Underage - Freeform, Yet., consensual tentacle sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8300600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiatorfromSpace/pseuds/RadiatorfromSpace
Summary: Loki likes this creature of the deep.   Read the tags.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myheadsamess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheadsamess/gifts).



> In keeping w/ my kink for the Octopus/Loki sex referenced in [ Chapter 2 of I’m Your Sugar-Pink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7312147/chapters/16810420) here is Thorki porn of AoA!Loki fucking an octopus.
> 
> The installments in this series are not related stories, they just have a high overlap in content, kink, and theme.

The last of the Prince disappears in the soft crush of a summer night’s air over his skin, and what remains of reborn Loki slips hungrily into the dark.

He wears a night robe and his skin: the soles of his feet grip the stones walkways of the palace courtyards, his cock and balls flap against his taut abdomen and thighs. He has no words left—he is Animal—and his only guides are the heavy Want sitting low in his belly, and the dim, unspoken certainty that he is doing right.

There is no doubt or background noise; the Night hath come and taken them away, made him Different. Loki knows this hunger steadily spreading down his thighs and twining up through his ribs, and he knows how to feed it—not his would-be mate, the huge, golden not-brother who demurs with longing looks and foreign words, but his mate in the Water, the one who reached inside and transmitted its Animal to him. And now he is changed by it.

His skin is sticky. When he reaches the beach, his skin prickles and tingles. He smells the salt, ancient, embraces the heavy drape of water swallowing his shins. The moonlight reflects off the surface and outlines the smooth-faced rocks where he braced his hands before, the memory of the angles of his thighs and the jolt from the fluttering inside, and he swims with undulations of his whole body towards that place of memory.

It was a _squirming,_ slippery joy his mate spread from the hole Loki’s not-brother won’t yet claim to someplace unknowably deep inside—Loki reaches the rocks and dives down, the warm ocean swallowing him like he needs to swallow his mate. He Knows him, he Feels him, and blindly he grabs one strand of seaweed after another until the gently swaying arm he grasp is sentient, alive, _hungry,_ and grasps him with recognition, in reply.

Loki kicks off from the ocean floor towards the surface, the rocks, the sand around them where he can sit and still breathe with his head above the water, his octopus following behind. He kneels between the three rocks, drawing in great, gulping breaths, each drag of air so thick it is like drinking, but he is Alive and All of him has turned to eyes and ears pointed towards his lover when he arrives, a heightening of this frenetic energy inside where there is nothing but this relentless Want like another animal prowling between his ribs and looking for a way out. 

He has his way out: his smooth-bodied octopus with its strange head and gentle eyes crawls beneath Loki’s petting hands and between his legs; he remembers Loki. One of the octopus’s largest, strongest tentacles locks around each of Loki’s thighs, manacling him in place without pain, but with the certainty he cannot close his legs an inch; his mate will have him. He pulls Loki’s thighs wider apart with a strength Loki could never hope to escape had he needed anything other than this.

Loki’s mate is as strange as he is capable: Loki anticipates their orchestrated touch with a roiling hunger even as he stares at the octopus’s unfamiliar form. The top half of the head, body, and each tentacle is smooth, mottled, and covered in viscous slick without definition or edges, just long, tapering lengths of muscle. But the undersides are covered in rubbery, fluttering suction cups that suck the skin they latch onto that bring to mind a strange symmetry to scores of covetous lips. 

He releases a soft, yielding moan as the six other arms rise up to embrace him. The feel of them was strange—the outer layer was similar to the spongey quality of a cock in the outer, but the core of each tentacle was firm, wiry muscle. They move in graceful, dexterous undulations at time and rapid jerks and whips at others, but the higher they creep up Loki’s thighs, the gentler their movements became. They are so slick, there will be no risk of snagging or dryness when they plunge inside—and Loki’s eyelids are already fluttering at the thought of that. Perhaps the pleasure he feels at their ministrations is only heightened by their sheer alien appearance and texture…

Loki sags back against the smooth rock face, his awareness swiftly shrinking to all of these simultaneous, building pleasures as each tentacle finds its target. It is not just their strength and strange, dynamic abilities, but the sheer number of them expertly multi-tasking _all_ of his tender parts: the arm devoting itself to his aching cock times its rhythmic hugging of his heated flesh with the surge and ebb of the suction in each suction cup that latches onto his skin, feeling like many soft pairs of lips sucking along his length. While that one milks Loki’s dick, another trails pleasantly around his balls and rolls them tenderly in its dexterous touch, and a third of middling thickness massages luxuriously against his taint, both pleasant and relaxing. Then there are the two— _two,_ both sentient and moving at alternating rhythms without once fumbling the constant flow of sensation—thick arms nosing and teasing at his hole, the tapered tip of one swirling around Loki’s little furl before suddenly slipping the tip in and out of his hole before he can clench in surprise, before the fatter head of the second presses itself twice as deep into his hole with an undulating motion, only hinting at the sheer girth it will soon work into his body.

Only one arm rises above Loki’s waist: the last one, which curls around the back of his neck, supporting his lolling head for him, and uses its cups to suck against his sensitive neck like the devouring kisses of a lover.

The two tapered heads squirm in and out of his hole, progressively loosening him, until the both of them are able to wriggle inside and fit snuggly at once. One focuses on massaging the rings of muscle at Loki’s entrance into greater relaxation, while the other is intent: gently but insistently thrusting deeper in by inches, it works him up to the greatest thickness of this arm, gradually down and down the fattening tentacle until he is split over its perfect girth. Loki moans high in his throat, loving this and still craving more, and he bears down in time with each upward thrust. The great, fat part of the tentacle pumps luxuriously through his hole and fills the space immediately inside, while the tapering head of that same tentacle curls, undulates, and reaches farther and farther inside until Loki imagines he can feel its tickle in his lungs.

Blindly, Loki shifts and squirms, his perspective now completely restricted to the areas of pleasure, like the central axis of his mind has been relocated between that one, burly tentacle bulling his prostate and the sparking squeeze and suck of the tentacle loving his dick. Loki is already incapable of thought and reason: he can neither think past the concentration of perfection between his legs, nor remember his name; he knows not where his hands lie or to what purpose—it is an effort even to make himself blink when the water splashes against his face. It’s like his mind is dissolving into a liquid and endlessly swirling down a hole in the back of his skull—yet there is no end of him or sensation, so he unceasingly continues to come apart.

Once both arms are deep inside, he feels them begin to swell—then they are filling his cavity and pressing against his inner walls, just starting to push at the boundaries of what his flesh can take and Loki groans, long and deep, full and happy. He sees his abdomen beginning to pooch out just a little from the fattening arms inside him, the sight sending frissons of electricity up and down his spine as he bears down once more, bucks yet again into the tentacles loving him from cock to taint. He is free with his pleasure and loud, his voice reaching far over the water as the ones inside keep swelling outward and burrowing deeper. He loves this fullness, he loves the feeling of it building inside when he now lacks even the self-control and presence of mind to put his hands to any use, or remember to. Loki can scarcely breathe for moaning and bouncing his hips at their frenzied pace, for there is no time between each thrust to his prostate, and the deep, strange, heady tickling farther in is constant.

The two arms inside continue to inflate as they press ever deeper, until Loki feels as much as sees the taut but small-ish curve in his abdomen, as though he is definitely with child but the babe is still a wee thing. Oh—Loki groans and holds his belly, his cock jumping as weakness spread through his body and he sags back against the smooth rock face for support—and his mate has not even begun to spill his seed!

He can make Loki feel fuller—Loki _remembers_ —and he craves it. He hugs his octopus closer, wordlessly trying to urge it along and faster with his hands as the two tentacles continued at their alternating rhythms, ever withdrawing and probing against everything that feels good inside. 

His mate seems to understand: beneath Loki’s fingers, the octopus’s three hearts are pumping with ramping speed, and then the tentacle massaging Loki’s taint presses its tapered head against his overstuffed hole, and begins to squirm its way inside. The thick tentacles latching onto his thighs adjust their grip until they are no longer chaining him but supporting him, and the octopus crawls closer between his legs as it readies itself: Loki will be full soon.

With long, vigorous thrusts, the third tentacle burrows deep inside him. Loki hugs his mate as the shift comes, and releases a deep cry as the creature begins to pump: the beginning of what had last seemed an endless flow of thick seed and eggs, swiftly filling in the spaces between the tentacles and more, until Loki sees his belly starting to swell with it. As the pressure inside builds, his belly stretches, until he doesn’t appear to be carrying just one wee babe of Thor’s, but one big enough that Loki cannot sit properly anymore—then a babe grown enough against his tiny slip of a body that _shame_ would come to any man who had got him with child—especially Thor. It is better than good and Loki wails through it, cradling his belly in his arms, excitement rushing through his veins and pleasure sometimes blinding, as his cock throbs and weeps and jumps—at first into the water, and then against his heavy belly as the octopus unloads yet more of its young.

Loki presses his fingers down against his swelling belly, just able to make out the shape and size of the eggs from the seed he’s being stuffed with, but it grows more difficult as his mate continues to pump, for the eggs are forced to cluster tighter and tighter together as his flesh’s resistance mounts. 

It is better than exquisite: all of his tunics would surely rip, no— _Thor’s_ tunics might stretch on him—a realization that made a goodness like white light burst somewhere deep inside him and spread. His octopus just carries on, crawling closer, reaching deeper, determined to keep packing his eggs more and more tightly inside him until he had no more left to give.

He is stuffed and brimful of his mate’s young, split and bred because Thor thought him too small to lie with him. But Loki’s octopus is not yet done: he wants a _great_ brood from Loki, and he slams him down into the water until his bottom hits the sandy floor, as he begins to push the last of his clutch into him. Gasping in the moment of the shift, Loki’s back arches as the force of the octopus’s pumping against his insides suddenly intensifies, his mate striving to overcome the resistance of Loki’s taxed tissues. Loki writhes and mewls, senseless from both sensations, the overwhelming fullness and the steadily forced stretch. 

The vision stuck fast in Loki’s head: feeding off the seed of their father, the eggs would mature and _grow larger_ inside him—but before they were ready to leave the shelter of Loki’s body and fend for themselves, more male octopuses would smell the chemical scent of what Loki had done, what Loki was willing to do, and vie for their turn even as they wrenched his legs open and pumped their seed into him as well. They would each put their seed to field in him—they would make him fuller than the word _meant,_ a sow stuffed with more litters than his body was designed to carry, with only his seidr to see him through unharmed.

Loki grips his mate’s arms to steady himself, teeth gnashing and whimpering helplessly as his orgasm threatens in time with the octopus’s final push—and then it is over, _all in:_ three thick tentacles, hundreds of eggs, and gods knew how much seed pumped into his accommodating belly. He looked like the serving maid who carried triplets to term last fall, and Loki released a sharp, echoing cry as his climax was roughly forced upon him, and his hot seed shot out in thick, forceful spurts against the underside of his stomach.

As their pulses slow, Loki lies sprawled against the rocks, sheltered from the current, as the octopus slowly withdraws one tentacle at a time, taking so long it seems as though it had wandered miles into Loki. As the last tentacle comes out, Loki gasps at the immediate shift inside: the contents just forced into him under such pressure, they immediately begin to flow out of his abused, slack hole and drift away with the waves. He hugs his belly to savor this perfect fullness, remembering that soon after they were finished last time, he was all but empty. He will be flat by morning’s first light, his tender, gaping ring the only remaining evidence of the night’s activities.

Slow and seeming almost contemplative now that they are not rutting, the octopus stays a while nearby. He only blinks at the white clouds of seed and egg steadily flowing out of Loki, as inscrutable as the first time. 

He crawls away into the murk when Loki’s becomes steady.

``

What registered first is the sunlight glaring down through his thin eyelids, then the feel of not sand but soft grass beneath him, then time; Night was gone, and with it the animal-self of last night. 

Loki blinked and began to rise, only for a heavy hand to push him down again. That hand was tan, callused, and spanned across most of his chest. Strong, stubborn, close. _Brother._

The other hand lightly cupped his cheek; Loki smiled up at the haloed head now leaning forward to shelter him from the sun. Thor was smiling tenderly down at him, a hint of a sunburn on the high points of his cheeks, and several strands of hair escaped from the haphazard braid spilling over one shoulder. Thor, the air, the day: all warm.

The fingers on Loki’s cheek drew soft circles over the curves Loki’s smile had made. _Big brother._

“There you are,” Thor murmured.

“I knew it was you in my dreams,” Loki rasped brightly, “you stink of leather and sweat!”

Thor flashed his white teeth and laughed. His thumb ghosted down the bridge of Loki’s nose.

“Such is my fate,” he replied with a shrug. He smoothed his middle finger over one of Loki’s brows, then the other. “But which of the Norns loves sweat and leather so?”

The thumb went down Loki’s nose again. Loki tried to touch it with his tongue; Thor did him a nasty turn and grabbed the reaching tongue between his fingers and waggled it until Loki wrestled himself out of his grip and spat upon the ground with a horrified _“Bleeeeh!”_

Loki flopped back down on his back and laid his head upon Thor’s booted calf. He was naked, all white skin and sticking sand, which Thor’s fingers slowly began swiping away in light, swift strokes. That he didn’t pinch Loki’s nipples meant nothing; the pads of his fingers enjoyed all the contours as they moved down his chest.

“So I find you here again, little slip,” Thor rumbled. “Not the warm tavern bed I’d imagined.”

“Were you worried?”

Thor snorted. “I’m surprised this is how you cope.” His hands had dusted past Loki’s navel and were approaching the mess between his legs.

“It is harder for you than I imagined,” he added softly.

“Oh, it was FAR harder than you may’st think!”

Thor began laughing, a bright and warm sound, and kept brushing the sand off his groin. Had Loki expected him to be angry? Had the old Loki done this and found his hot-headed brother all stormy thunderclap because of it? Maybe if this Thor had seen this Loki in the throes of it last night, rather than these pale vestiges of his sport.

“Cease this pestering! When you are old enough, we may lie together, sweetling. Be patient and slow, you will ha—”

“I’ve _seen_ it!” Loki cried. He’d almost gotten the whole head _in his mouth,_ that’s what he’d done! _“It could fit!”_

Thor smiled and shook his head. “Mayhap one day.” 

One hand delved between Loki’s legs to feel the slick, swollen remains of his once little furl. 

Thor jerked in surprise. Loki smirked.

Then the finger in Loki’s slack hole pulled gently at the ring of muscle, and Thor released a shocked swear at just how far it stretched.

“Mayhap?” Loki taunted. 

The hand cupping his cheek grew tighter, Thor’s only admission a quiet, _“Shit.”_

**Author's Note:**

> In the beginning, Loki's state of mind was an attempt to emulate the altered state of consciousness the I had the first time I experienced erotic hypnosis at a kink/fetish convention… More on that in an upcoming fic. ;)
> 
> To see MORE sexy Loki fanart by our Octopus/Loki artist, check out [Myheadsamess’s Tumblr](http://myheadsamesssogimmetheslash.tumblr.com/) where she posts her art! I’m thrilled you loved my fics enough to make fanart of them, darling! <3
> 
> Same handle on [Tumblr.](http://radiatorfromspace.tumblr.com/)


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